“Far better that it should be so than that we should both be made prisoners and ill-treated,” replied the captain; “so be, as you always have been, an obedient girl—and now, my child, may Heaven bless and protect you!” and the captain, giving his daughter an affectionate kiss, led her to the gangway. The boat was already alongside, and Owen in her ready to help Norah down. She was soon seated in the boat; Gerald followed her. Just then the captain took another glance at the stranger, which was about three miles off; as he did so, the French flag was seen to fly out at her peak. At the same moment the sails of the Ouzel Galley gave a loud flap; the captain looked round.
“Praise Heaven! here comes the breeze from the eastward,” he exclaimed. “Hold fast with the boat; come on deck again, Norah—we’ll not part with you yet;” and, leaning down, he took her arm as she quickly climbed up the side. The rest of the party followed; and to save time the boat was dropped astern. All hands were busily engaged in bracing up the yards. The Ouzel Galley was now well to windward; the French ship tacked, but was still able to steer a course which would bring her within gunshot. The two vessels stood on; the Ouzel Galley was rapidly approaching the land, while the Coquille was getting further from it. Another tack would, however, place her astern, and it would then be a question whether she could overtake the Ouzel Galley before the latter could run up the harbour. Much would depend upon the way the wind blew when she got inside; it might come down the harbour, and in that case the Frenchman might overtake her before she could get up to Credda Head, within which it was not likely even Thurot himself would venture. The breeze held firm; the captain looked over the side.
“The good ship seems to know her danger, and is slipping along famously,” he observed to Owen. “We shall be up to Waterford Quay before nightfall, I hope; we have still a good part of the flood, and when Captain Thurot finds that there is no chance of taking us, he’ll give up the chase.”
“He’ll not do so till the last moment, captain,” observed Lieutenant Vinoy. “There is no man like him; and should the wind fail us when we are inside the harbour, he will, or I am much mistaken, send in the boats to cut your vessel out.”
“We’ll hope, then, that the wind will not fail us,” answered the captain—and he much doubted whether the Frenchman would venture on so bold an act. “If your friends come, we’ll give them a warm reception, and we shall be under the necessity of shutting you up in your cabin again.”
“I shall be ready to submit to your orders,” said the lieutenant, shrugging his shoulders.
Poor Norah naturally felt very anxious, even though Owen endeavoured to reassure her by pointing out the position of the French ship, which could not tack with advantage till a considerable way astern. The breeze was every moment freshening, and the tall lighthouse on the east side of Waterford harbour became more and more distinct.
“No fear now,” cried Gerald at length, as the very beach on it stood, with the water rippling on it, could be clearly discerned, and the harbour up to Duncannon Fort opened out to view. The Ouzel Galley was just abreast of Hook Tower when the French ship was seen to tack and boldly to stand after her.
“That looks as if the lieutenant were right in his notion; and should we get becalmed inside, or find the wind drawing down the harbour, Thurot will send in his boats after us,” observed Owen to the captain.
“I have no fear of being becalmed till we get inside of Credda Head, and still less of the wind, as it is outside, drawing down the harbour,” answered the captain. “Should the boats get up with us, we must try and beat them off; we were not afraid of the ship herself, and those Frenchmen, though brave enough, are not like our own fellows in cutting-out affairs. See to the guns, however, and get ammunition up on deck, for, should they come, we mayn’t have much time to spare.”